


The Difficulty

by FELover



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blatant AU abuse, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FELover/pseuds/FELover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a time and a place where neither of them have to fight their way into a new dawn. Sometimes life is less cruel, but it's still complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difficulty

* * *

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—

 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

               And how should I presume?

(From 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.)

* * *

 

Stahl has never been fond of the overly sugary personality people like to assume he possesses. He's not  _that_  awkward. And he's not  _that_  good. He knows he's tamer than most, and it doesn't bother him as much when it's only his closest friends who torment him about it. But it still  _burns_. It still _hurts_. 

But what is it that hurts so much,  if not the words? Perhaps the hidden implication, or the hidden truth of him. 

What is it about  _him_? 

Perhaps that's what led him beyond the threshold of 'two glassfuls of beer and then to bed'. Who knows. Maybe he was just tired. Tired of always being the first to leave the bar, no lovely lass clinging to his arm, and no other soul voyaging aimlessly in the grey streets. He was always left feeling cold. So, with the thought in mind of  _'Who knows; tonight might be the night',_  he got himself a dozen or so shots of the most dubious and wicked thing he could think of. He didn't exactly have a plan in mind, but that was the plan: Let his hair down for a night, stop caring so much and go wild, because  _'Tonight might be the night'._

For what? Who knows. That wasn't so specifically clarified, even for him. A night for wonder or resolution? For inquisition and revision? In his mind there was no space for anything but the slow, looping dictum of ' _Tonight is the night.'_ He felt invigorated, oddly to the point where he actually granted intrinsic value to his made up mantra. He liked to believe things go according to certain rules or constructs wiser beings than him design because they make sense or because they seem fair. He isn't too sure. He just wants that spark of magic in his life; that thing that is supposed to happen to everyone at least once in a lifetime.

It's his turn, isn't it? 

He's got everything in place; a respectable job, a nice, quiet home in a quiet neighborhood(nothing too fancy, but nothing too drab), and an empty slot in his heart ready to be filled. Really, he's just waiting for something to come his way, and he's sure, _so sure_ that whatever he needs is just about to fall from the sky. There's heat and moisture in the air, the alcohol is dancing in his veins, the perfume of distant flowers in his nose...

Which is odd. 

The bar always smells smokey. The bar is always slightly dull. The bar is mostly filled with men and women who act _more_ like men than actual men. 

Where did the flowers come from? 

Is it _her_? Oh yes. It must be _her_. How could it not be _her_?

Stahl steals a glance, quick like a kid snatching a cookie from the counter before anyone can notice. He sees purple at the corner of his eye. It's from a dress. There's a nice woman with a nice smile playing with the sleeves of her woolly, slightly darker sweater. It's loose enough that one of her shoulders is bare for him to appreciate the paleness of her skin. He follows the strap of her dress until it sneaks somewhere he feels bad staring at, but then he lets himself look down, down, down... And he doesn't care about the stare he's receiving by now(must be the booze rampaging in his brain, killing him bit by bit by bit); he just knows that he likes those legs. 

"Hey," is what he gets when he tips and wobbles in his seat. "You okay?"

"Huh?"

Way to go pal. You almost fell face first onto her lap. That's a real charmer's move, you tipsy fool. 

"You don't look so good there."

Her accent is very conspicuous, just a miniature variation in the way she lets the words slither out almost stiffly, but even in his state, Stahl knows when he's speaking with a foreigner. His natural, dumb, almost desperate response(because he wants to grab this specific woman's attention) comes tumbling after a silent burp he tries to cover as a hiccup.

"Whe-where're you from?"

She stiffens, goes ramrod straight under his palms as he steadies himself and holds on tight to her shoulders. Soon he realizes how inappropriate that might be and tries to keep his hands to himself, backing away like scalded, or scolded by a silent glare. 

"What's it matter?"

Stahl laughs. Who knows what possessed him; bet he laughs. 

"Uh. No. It doesn... Just. I like your accent, you know? So... where're you from?"

Her eyes glimmer furtively when the bartender starts to gain some interest in his client's drunken chat. She plays it coy then, slips his arm around her neck and pulls him and wow, that's a _strong_ grip she's got on him.

"Come on," she pushes him forward. There's something excitingly forceful about her voice that makes him hum and flutter under his skin. "I think you've had enough."

He can just imagine what's happening all around; what's inside her head: _'Nothing happening here, sirs and madams. Just two friends. No. Acquaintances. Casual acquaintances meeting by chance.'_

He likes it. It's shady and dark, and also slightly what he half expected but half didn't know if he could get. Internally, he's thanking whatever angels or devils are on his side.

_'Tonight is the night is the night is the night is the night...'_

They leave. It's a bit uncomfortable for her. He can tell because her fingers are digging into his ribs, and he'd be squirming if he wasn't getting a kick out of the situation.

_'Lookat me; Stahl. And lookat her... and I don't even know her name.'_

That's probably when the wrongness of it all starts to kick in like a ton of bricks.

He doesn't know her. He doesn't know her and she's dragging him away like he's stuffed with cotton, like she knows he's not much of a fight in his state. For an everlasting split of a second, he dreads the flowers and the soft hands. He tries to pull himself together, only to get dizzy and disoriented. He, in all his stupidity and clumsiness, manages to scrape his brow against the wall of a building(or was that a house? How long have they been walking?)as he struggles to find his footing.

"Hey, hey, hey," she chastises him, forcing his back against the wall. "Are you stupid or what? You can barely walk. Put your arm on my shoulder."

"Er... no thanks. I'm fine."

"And I'm the queen of Valm. Stop being dumb."

His eyes, glazed, like a murky window or a stained glass(suddenly those images flash before his eyes), dart from her to nothingness, and back to her again. She's just that pretty. She's _so_ pretty. He's still suspicious, and quite embarrassed he didn't think about the danger, but she just doesn't look like the type to drag people into alleyways and spill blood. She looks a bit edgy alright. He can tell by the hardness in her black, black eyes, that she can take care of herself and do what needs to be done.

"I just want to take you home, alright?" she says, quieter. "You're drunk off your ass, so take the kindness of a stranger or die in a ditch somewhere. Your choice."

"I..."

Kindness. Ditch. Kindness. Ditch. Really Stahl? Do you need to weigh one against the other? Pick the pretty gal, for the love of all that is holy to you, you sad, dull, drunken...

The woman doesn't wait for him to answer. She sees the cloud obscuring his vision and pulls him again.

"Just tell me which way. Can you think clearly enough to do that?"

Stahl eyes her past a curtain of his own damp hair, groaning a bit realizing he must stink.

"You never told me where you're from."

She sighs, and her breath is sweet enough to lull him out of this grey, grey world. The streets are a blur, and there is no color anymore. 

"Somewhere not as nice as here."

"Mmmm..." he hums, inhaling deeply. "I'm Stahl, by the way."

The small smile on her colorless, dry lips sways and fades before his darkening vision.

"Nice name." She murmurs looking away, so low, so secretive, he misses it completely.

What he doesn't miss however, is the stained bandage wrapped tightly around one of her hands. He didn't see it before, because the sweater's sleeves were too long, but now that hand is wiping away some of the drool at the corner of his mouth(is he laying on a bed now? Oh yes. His house. He mumbled something about _'Hyre street'_ , and _'... dead flowers under the windows...red door.... Can't miss it.'_

He also remembers feeling cold again, right after her presence left him with a quiet thud in the background.

Probably his door shutting close.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest. I have huuuuge crushes on lots of badasses from Fire Emblem. But if EVER I considered one fictional character as possibly the perfect guy to marry in real life, that's Stahl. He's got a 'dunno what' that makes me want to cuddle him forever. And so, I decided to write something for him, because he deserves way more love than he gets. I hope I did some good, because I really wanted it to be good not only for him, but also for the readers.  
> WARNING: It might get angsty. But maybe not. And also, did you see the tags? This is an AU, meaning Robin isn't the tactician, and Stahl isn't a cavalier. They are just normal people with somewhat messed up lives.


End file.
